Who Will Save Your Soul?
by PetitNoctris
Summary: Griffin-centric fictlets exploring the inner life of the most underutilized character in a show that is supposed to be about a hospital. Potential future Griffin/Elizabeth pairing, but I will explore all his past and current relationships as well. Regular updates are not guaranteed, but I'd like to try. I appreciate honest, relevant feedback.


1- LITANY

 _Two thousand years ago, 25 years old made sense; 25 was half a lifetime in those days._

Griffin Munro is twenty-five today.

He doesn't know if he's supposed to keep his eyes open or closed, so he settles for letting them open just a sliver… just enough to see his breath fogging up the shiny, cold, grey marble of the floor beneath him. His forehead is flush on the ground, as cold as the rest of his body feels in the thin white alb and the not-quite-as-warm-as-he'd-hoped wool trousers. There is a crack on the floor beneath his right index finger. He feels the vibrations of the organ beneath his palms and in his ribcage as the choir continues to breathlessly chant the Litany of the Saints from their high alcove.

As he lies prostrate before the altar in the cathedral, having made five promises before the bishop, he feels every bit the unworthy sinner when the thread of doubt invades his mind again. Is he meant for this? He shuts his eyes tightly, pressing the pad of his right index finger harder against the crack on the floor. He mouths along with the litany, forcing as much earnest from his heart as he can, begging for an advocate.

 _All you holy Innocents, pray for us!_

There is nothing magical about the laying on of hands afterward, but somehow Griffin feels comforted by such a simple act. Every priest begins right where he is now. He can do this. He is meant for this.

Not quite a year into the future and that thread of doubt has grown into a suffocating noose around his neck. He has barely learned how write his own homilies, but the world keeps calling to him. So he fools himself that hitting "Submit" on his AMCAS application for medical school only means he can help people in ways beyond offering prayers. This is just another way he can do God's work for those in need. He thinks he is keeping the noose of doubt from tightening by faithfully reciting the Liturgy of the Hours three times a day, and he prides himself that he hasn't missed a single vesper, even with an impending pulmonology midterm on the horizon.

 _All you holy Martyrs, pray for us_

The months pass and the year with them. Griffin is in the world, but still not quite a part of it. Sometimes he can forget he has doubts, until one day, a whiff of freesias draws his attention away from the antiphon he could recite from memory. As he looks up from the worn book of prayers to identify the source of the scent, he feels his breath catch in his throat. A lock of blonde hair falls over her eyebrow and she stares, unabashed, back at him. She holds the other end of his noose now.

Griffin Munro is 26 when he breaks his first promise to the Church; he breaks half of the commandments as he falls into the arms of one very married Claudette Beaulieu.

 _From your wrath, Lord, save your people…_

There is fire in his belly. He stumbles along a wet and cold alley, dazed and breathless. A few more steps and he will reach the other side of the street. He can see the red glow of Mercy General's emergency room sign shining on the wet asphalt. He's going to die without absolution. He doesn't know what frightens him more, that there awaits him a burning place in hell or that there may be nothing waiting for him on the other side. He takes three more steps and the horizon tilts to the left. No, no, no, no! His palm slides against the slick warmth pulsing from his side. He can't keep pressure and his legs are going numb.

The edges of his vision are starting to become fuzzy and gray, and he lets a sob escape his mouth. "Please, God!" He knows he doesn't deserve it, and yet he begs for God's grace. He tries to remember the words of that antiphon he was reading when he'd first seen Claudette… It was the psalm David had written after he'd committed adultery with Bathsheba. His brain is too foggy to bring up the words in the right order and he feels the last of his strength wane from the effort. One more step forward, the horizon tilts in the opposite direction from before.

 _Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us…_

He doesn't feel it when his head hits the pavement right at the ambulance entrance. He lays there, prone with arms outstretched beneath the glowing red cross emblem of Mercy General. There is a crack in the asphalt beneath his right hand fingers and he scrapes his nails along the length of it. Some disconnected part of his mind registers that the security guard on duty and a nurse on a smoking break have seen him and are now running toward him.

There are hands laid upon him. His eyes are clouded with tears and encroaching darkness, so he can't see who touches his face. There is warmth beneath the unnatural feel of latex gloves, and Griffin feels comforted by that small fact. Sounds fade along with everything around him, and his body sinks into the oblivion of unconsciousness.


End file.
